


what did you expect?

by orphan_account



Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018)
Genre: Goyo drinks to forget, How Do I Tag, Implied Sexual Content, It's actually not that sad tbh, Light Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, Possibly Unrequited Love, it's actually kinda decent, please give it a chance, yall its not as bad as the tags make it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He’s glad Goyo’s too inebriated to shove him aside. Or feel how tense Vicente is, how he’s trying not to let himself melt against Goyo’s body heat. Or notice that he’s blushing.“Namumula ka,” Goyo suddenly interjects.Putangina.“Lighting lang ‘yan,” Vicente says, like a liar, “At ginaw.”





	what did you expect?

**Author's Note:**

> based off of [this tweet](https://twitter.com/softgregorio/status/1078527670978150400?s=20) which is based off [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBI5PHU1wYU) which is also where the title is from jhgfghjds
> 
> unang ff ko toh sa fandom so aaaa paumanhin lang saka have mercy pls ahahah
> 
> without further ado, i hope you enjoy jhgdsg

 The moment Goyo starts hollering Ben&Ben’s _Kathang Isip_ in the middle of the bar is the moment Vicente decides he’s gone through enough for the night. He doesn’t like bars, because sometimes the music’s too loud and the people are too close and the drinks always taste bitter on his tongue.

 But he’s a noble best friend, and being a noble best friend means he has to be there for Gregorio as the latter drinks his ass off trying to forget about the mess that is his lovelife, even if it hurts, hurts, _hurts_ somewhere inside of his chest. Being a noble best friend means he needs to be a helping hand, a support system to help Goyo cope, a shoulder to cry on and all that.

 And being a noble best friend, he decides, means that he needs to take Goyo home safe and sound, and preferably before the aforementioned best friend embarrasses both of them in front of a hundred or so people.

 “I’ll take him home,” he says resignedly to a shitfaced Julian. Julian’s nod looks more like his head lolling down because it’s gotten too heavy for his neck to support, but the lazy thumbs-up he sends Vicente’s way is indication enough that Julian’d heard him.

 “Ingat kayo!” Remedios giggles into her cocktail. She hiccups and giggles even more. Vicente waves and helps Goyo up. Goyo mutters incoherent phrases under his breath and goes slack against Vicente. Vicente grunts and props Goyo’s arm over his shoulder, biting his lip as he tries to keep both of them standing up.

 “’Sa’n tayo ‘punta,” Goyo mumbles. Vicente scrunches his nose at the stench of alcohol flooding his nostrils.

 “Bahay niyo,” he says, “Sige na. Makalakad ka?”

 Goyo grumbles and takes a step forward before he stumbles on air.

 Vicente swears and helps him up again. “Okay,” he says, “That’s a no.”

 “Pwede nga!” Goyo huffs with an insistent pout. Vicente swallows down the urge to call him cute, choosing to laugh instead.

 “Yeah. Sure. Sige na, Goyo, baby steps,”

 He’s glad Goyo’s too inebriated to shove him aside. Or feel how tense Vicente is, how he’s trying not to let himself melt against Goyo’s body heat. Or notice that he’s blushing.

 “Namumula ka,” Goyo suddenly interjects.

 Putangina.

 “Lighting lang ‘yan,” Vicente says, like a liar, “At ginaw.”

 “Hmm,” Goyo says, and Vicente hopes to God that Goyo’s too tired to say anything more than that. He really doesn’t want to have a drunk Gregorio psychoanalyzing him and asking him about why his cheeks are red. Goyo goes quiet. Vicente lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

 “Pretty,” Goyo pipes up again.

 Vicente freezes for a moment before carrying on. The car’s only a couple meters away now. He can do this. He can live through this.

 “Yung ano?” he dares ask. He dares to look at Goyo. He nearly flinches away when he sees that Goyo’s looking at him with narrowed eyes and pink-dusted cheeks, almost looking… fascinated.

 “Ikaw,”

 Vicente makes himself laugh. He tears his gaze away. “Lasing ka,”

 “Mmh,”

 Vicente doesn’t deem that with a response. He almost cries in relief when he sees that they’ve reached the car, and he opens the door to the passenger seat and helps Goyo in. when he closes the door, he takes a few moments to snap himself out of it before heading to the driver’s seat.

 He closes the door.

 He starts up the engine.

 He turns the A/C on.

 He starts driving.

 His grip is tight on the steering wheel as he does. Vicente keeps his eyes on the road and turns on the radio, because he doesn’t like the uncomfortable, awkward silence that hangs over the two of them one bit.

 It’s never supposed to be awkward with Goyo. That’s not their dynamic, not at all. When Vicente and Gregorio are alone together, it’s supposed to be bad jokes and light banter, and a few stolen smitten glances on Vicente’s side every now and then. It’s supposed to be laughter and belting out the songs on the radio or fighting over the aux cord. It’s not letting the silence wash over them, not letting the tension grow. It’s finishing each other’s sentences and speaking at the same time, not waiting for the other one to speak up first.

 “I really liked him,” Gregorio says when they’re almost home. He’s staring absently outside the window, lips curled into a small frown. He’d said it so quietly that Vicente barely caught it.

 “Past tense?”

 Goyo shrugs and looks away from the window so that he can look straight at Vicente. Eyes wide; glassy, red rimmed, on the verge of spilling over.

 “Goyong,” Vicente says, and Goyo unravels.

 He falls forward, burying his face in Vicente’s shoulder as Vicente leans forward, hand finding the small of Goyo’s back, holding his friend as the taller man sobs. Vicente purses his lips and rubs circles onto Goyo’s back, his tongue tied and his heart caught in his throat.

 Vicente’s never been good with words, never really been the best in situations like this. All he manages to do his hold Gregorio as close as he can, trying to soothe him with rubbing his back and fiddling with his hair. Goyo’s whole frame is trembling.

 Vicente’s heart aches. His chest feels hollow.

 “Enteng,” Goyo murmurs. Vicente hums. Goyo pulls farther back, and he’s still so close, still leaning forward with his hazy eyes locked with Vicente’s own.

 “Enteng, can I kiss you?”

 Vicente’s heart stops for a moment. The world stops for a moment. Time stops for a moment, as a million thoughts race through Vicente’s mind for what feels like a whole eternity wrapped up in merely a few moments.

 “Lasing ka,” is all he manages to say, and even then his voice breaks at the last syllable. This is wrong, he thinks. This is bad. This is very bad. And he should be the bigger man here, because he’s the sober one, because he’s not going to stoop as low as taking advantage of his drunk, heartbroken best friend who probably won’t even remember any of this in the morning. Because he doesn’t want to be a drunken rebound. Because he wants, with all his foolish heart, for Gregorio del Pilar to kiss him and hold him close out of love even if he knows it’ll never happen.

 But Goyo’s hand is on his thigh, and Goyo’s still staring up at him unabashedly, and Vicente’s always been so, so weak for Gregorio del Pilar.

 “Wag kang mag-isip,” Gregorio mutters, hot breath fanning on Vicente’s face. And the smell of beer should make Vicente double take, make him reel back and be a decent friend and refuse, but it doesn’t.

 Vicente stops thinking, and when he closes the gap between them, his delusional mind justifies it by telling him _“best friends are supposed to be a support system_.”

 When he grips the front of Goyo’s shirt and melts into the sensation of Goyo gripping the sides of his face, he tells himself, _“I_ am _being a support system.”_

_“Just a different kind of helping hand,”_ he chants to himself in his mind morbidly as he drives them both to Goyo’s house in haste, as Goyo pins him against the door and slides his lips over Vicente’s almost desperately before they’re even inside, as he feels himself sink into the soft sheets of Goyo’s bed, eyes sliding shut and back arched and blocking out everything else but Goyo, Goyo, _Goyo—_

* * *

 

The clock hits five AM and he lies awake, his head pounding and turning, and he wonders if one can have a hangover despite not having had anything to drink. It’s warm with Goyo’s arms wrapped around him, and he doesn’t want to admit that he likes it so much.

 He pries Goyo off of him and sits up, and everything’s suddenly so _cold_.

 Goyo stirs but he doesn’t wake. Vicente locates his shirt and boxers and pants, and hastily changes into yesterday’s clothes even while they smell of beer and sweat. He looks at Goyo one last time before he smiling in resignation and slinking out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

 

 On his way home he spots Jacinto walking with a bouquet of Goyo’s favorite flowers in his hands. Vicente speeds the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

 

 Two PM. Vicente’s trying not to doze off at the counter, but it’s a lazy afternoon and nobody wants to buy coffee at this time of the day. He contemplates making himself a cup of coffee, and five minutes later he catches himself starting to make Goyo’s usual order.

 Fucking hell.

 As if on cue, the bell over the door chimes with the arrival of a customer, and Vicente sets the beverage he’s in the middle of making aside, his and his co-worker’s heads snapping up to greet whoever it is.

 The customer turns out to be Goyo— of all people— hand in hand with fucking _Emilio Jacinto_ and Vicente’s heart does this thing where it hurts for no valid reason at all other than _it hasn’t even been twelve hours, what the fuck, and you’re back together already?_

 “Goyo!” Felicidad, the cashier, greets warmly. “Ilyong! The usual lang, diba?”

 Goyo nods. Jacinto tells him something that Vicente can’t make out, before walking off to find a table.

 He looks happy. He looks so fucking _happy_. He’s smiling as he waves at Vicente and steps closer to the counter, and Vicente would like nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up, pretty please.

 Goyo’s glowing, and he looks so good, so ethereal, so near yet so out of reach.

 “Wow,” Vicente says, a careful forced lightness in his voice, “Nagkabalikan agad?”

 “Pumunta sya sa apartment kanina,” Goyo’s got a dopey grin on his face, and he’s smiling and it’s not because of Vicente. “Nagsorry,”

 “Wow,” Vicente says, faking mild surprise as he keeps his gaze focused on the drinks he’s making. “Sweet naman nun.”

 “Nasorpresa nga ako eh,”

 “I think ganun ang intension,”

 Goyo rolls his eyes. Vicente smiles. It feels way too heavy to be a smile.

 "Happy for you," he says, thankful his voice doesn't crack. He hands Goyo his order.

  He tries not to search Goyo’s eyes for any indication, any hint, any clue that he remembers what happened. He finds none and tries not to be hurt, but Vicente is only human, and humans are weak, and Vicente is weak- so weak for Goyo, so easily swayed by the way he smiles and bats his eyes and speaks to him softly.

 He's weak and helpless and wrapped around his tiny little finger, and he doesn't think it's fair that Gregorio's just as weak as is, but for Ilyong.

 Goyo beams.

 "Hang out tayo mamaya, ha?" Goyo says before leaving with Ilyong, iced coffee in hand, a skip in his step.

 “Sure," Vicente says to the now-empty space. He takes the coffee he had made earlier and throws it in the trash can under the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry sa butchered tagalog ahahaha
> 
> youve made it this far!! tysm!! hopefully na-enjoy niyo rin.
> 
> kudos and comments feed me ahahah
> 
> -nics


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